Instinctual Indulgances
by Sunburned-Stickperson
Summary: Alex has always been good about dealing with his instincts, but there are some he just can't ignore.


It was more of a need, rather than an urge. Alex liked to think he had a decent amount of control over his urges. Granted, he often indulged in them without remorse, but he could resist the urge to consume the nearest civilian or military man barking orders at him. He preferred to stick strictly to Infected to eat. That didn't mean he didn't enjoy himself occasionally, but he was good at not killing those with families. Like Dana. He had overcome the strongest urge to infect her by infecting Heller.

And that was how he found himself in his current predicament. Regardless of the fact Heller was dead, finally, he found himself thoroughly wiped out. No amount of rest he got could shrug off this need. He tried letting himself sit for a week in a pile of viral ooze in the bathtub in Dana's nice, new apartment. She had recently moved in her boyfriend, and he could still remember the man's girly shriek when he saw the black and red virus oozing and worming in the tub.

There was a clawing need in the base of his belly, and it was the same feeling he had gotten when he felt the need to infect Dana. Thankfully, he could say this time, the urge had nothing to do with his sister. Even though she was no longer his sister biologically, he had become attached to her in his own way, like a loyal dog as Ragland had put it, and she had helped him get a grip on everything after the major infection of Manhattan. Ragland had moved out of the morgue into the nearby apartments once the infection had been almost wiped out.

And so, he found himself stumbling through the streets, trying to follow where the need was taking him so he could get this problem over with. The need to infect was almost overwhelming, but as he looked around at the crowds, there was no one screaming out to him. No one here could give him satisfaction. Switching to his military skin, he found himself entering a base, looking around with his gaze blurry enough that he thought that he might have a fever.

"You there, soldier."

He looked up, tripping over his own feet and crashing into the commander. The man smelled wonderful, of sweat, dirt, and blood, but it wasn't right. It wasn't what the virus needed.

"You there! Help me get this man inside! Shit, soldier, you're burning up. Get him to the medical wing, quick!"

He felt someone else grab him, and he collapsed into a boneless pile in his arms. This man smelled even better, but he still wasn't what he was looking for. He vaguely registered when he felt something cold on his forehead, and he was looking around at the people over him. His legs commanded him to keep walking, and he tried to get up, but the others tried to hold him down. He couldn't resist them, too exhausted and burning with need to fight them. He didn't know how long it was until he heard something that made his skin crawl.

"So, this is your sick soldier, huh?"

That voice—the man's smell invaded his nose, and he could feel the air stir when he spoke. He whined, turning his head and seeing the blurry image as the heat flared, and he felt as if he were burning. The man growled, and fuck, Alex knew who he was going to infect. Whatever the virus needed, so long as he was cured.

"The medic can't figure it out, sir. We think it may have something to do with the virus—"

"Leave us alone, soldier. I survived the Supreme Hunter, and I can survive whatever this is."

"Yes, sir!"

He could hear the other men file out and heard the man pad over. He whined again and reached out, grasping feebly at the cloth on the man, and even that touch sent ripples through him. This was the man the virus needed.

"What's wrong with you, soldier? Is this the virus?"

He pulled the man close and inhaled, his mouth hanging open as his scent filled his senses, and he trembled. When the man pulled back, he whined, tightening his grip.

"What the fuck is going on, soldier?"

He could feel himself unraveling to infect the man. The man pulled from his grasp, and Alex whined.

"I'll be damned. We have Zeus here, at our mercy."

Alex rose shakily, following the virus's command. It needed this man, this man who smelled and sounded so familiar, but in his hazy mind, he couldn't pick the person out of the thousands of memories floating around. He staggered as he heard a door open somewhere, and men shout, and then a bullet bit his skin, and something snapped.

He roared, pounding the ground as he relied on his nose, his vision swimming with the desire to infect. The man was still in the room, and he snarled as he pushed the men out of the way. He felt something explode against his chest, and he tumbled back, hearing a shout of victory, and it only served to fuel his rage. He snarled, tentacles exploding from his back, crumbling the wall and creating a gap for him to escape as it dragged the man closer and into his grasp. He could hear the man cursing and struggling like a demon, and Alex ran from the base, the man yelling and shouting behind him as he dragged him along.

Up a building, into an alley, jump on a convenience store, glide halfway across Manhattan, and settle in Dana's destroyed safe house. He shoved the man against the wall, his instincts on fire and mottling his every sense, and he leaned in close, his ears closing over to tune out the shouts as he pinned the man's hands and legs, head and torso against the wall with tentacles from his back. He leaned in, trembling as he inhaled, and damn, it had been much too long since he had smelled that, and it was like a drug, and he pressed his mouth and teeth against his neck, inhaling deeply again and reveling in the shiver that ran throughout the virus. He needed this.

He raked his fingers—claws—down the man's chest and pushed him back gently, stepping forward to mold against the man. He breathed in through his mouth, shuddering again, and licked the flesh. Shit, yes, whoever this familiar man was, was what he needed. The man had fallen silent, probably trying to figure out what was going on. Alex just hoped it wouldn't end up like Heller. He grunted, holding the man's hips as he bit down softly, then a little harder, and a little harder, then bit sharply and let his tongue dart out to taste the blood. When that taste hit his tongue, he felt himself unravel, and his eyes went dark, and he could feel himself disintegrate into the man.

He needed a host, not an Infectee, but the fact that this man, so familiar and good, would become infected made the virus sing in pleasure.

It felt nice, Alex decided, to kill his target from the inside out. He could feel the warmth of the man's blood sweeping the virus through the blood stream and to all different parts of the body. There wasn't a need to kill him quickly. He'd let someone else feed him for now. Even though he was in sixty decillion different parts, he could feel himself healing. He could feel himself fight off the Bloodtox and quickly overpower it, having long since grown immune and evolved.

If only Cross could say the same thing. He had survived a hit to the stomach from the Supreme Hunter, watched it take his place from the DNA from his blood, crawled to Ragland's morgue (knowing that's where Alex went), and managed to regain his position after the worst of it was over. He had hunted down the last of the runners and survived Randall's wrath. He had switched sides in the worst war in history and come out victorious. He had been through Hell with the treatments from Bloodtox, and he was still in one piece. He was the Specialist, damnit, and he could handle anything.

This was nothing like all that.

He grunted as he watched Alex disappear before his eyes, and suddenly, his limbs felt that much heavier. He swore fluently and sank to the floor as a group of soldier entered the building ruins. His skin crawled, and he could feel himself about to hurl from the Bloodtox they had given him.

"S-Sir?"

"Help me up, damnit."

"Yes, sir!"

He let the men get him to his feet.

"Sir, where did Zeus—"

"Like Hell if I know, soldier. I can't understand that damn virus, but I do know that I'll need another shot of that stupid pink shit they were pumping all of us with."

He tried to hold his head up as they took him to the chopper, but his feet were dragging and his head lolled once.

"Sir?"

"I'll be fine, fuck it. Just radio in and tell them to get me another shot of that Pepto-Bismol shit."

He leaned back in the seat as they flew him back to the base, and almost felt relieved when they gave him another dose of the vaccine. He wasn't entirely sure he wanted to kill Mercer—but the fact he had just done a reverse-consumption was a little too much for him to handle right now. And to think he had been thinking of taking a vacation (on orders from the Commander-in-Chief) to recuperate from his wounds fully. Sure, the man had proved a powerful ally and an even easier dog to order around. The president himself had given him orders to befriend the damn germ if he couldn't capture it, and he all ready had one leg up on the other men. He had been a fool to call the Wisemen Team, but he wasn't sure this would've had any other ending. Once Alex decided something, he got it. It probably helped there was no one who could best him.

However, he couldn't help but wonder, briefly, if those words he had spoken all that time ago, at one of their few meetings—"It isn't enough to beat you, Mercer; I want to be you!"—were finally coming back to bite him in the ass.

His men helped him back into his room, and he sat on the bed with a grunt, rubbing his face briskly.

"Is there anything we can get you, sir?"

"Yeah, get me something to eat. And if they don't fucking let you take the food, tell them I'll have their asses fired."

"Sir, yes, sir!"

He lay back on the bed, throwing an arm over his eyes. He had never let any other illness keep him from work, and whatever Alex had done to him, he wasn't going to let it stop him now. Nevertheless, he would take a breather, see if the Bloodtox would help, and then get back to terrifying the new soldiers. He heard the door open and took the offered tray with a grunt of thanks.

"You're not looking so well, sir. Is the Bloodtox working?"

He shrugged. "I hope so, soldier. I'll call if I need anything."

"Yes, sir."

He ate in silence, trying to gather his thoughts. All he knew is that he hoped Mercer wasn't truly inside of him and that he had just disappeared.

Alex was less than pleased when another shot of Bloodtox interrupted his relaxation time. There was something to be said about just letting the flow of blood sweep him along as he extracted nutrients and life from the cells. When he felt the man's digestive system begin to work, he realized that it wasn't enough—perhaps enough for a military man, but not enough for the Blacklight virus. This man would have to start eating more. He was burning enough calories trying to support this virus for just a few hours. Once his body got used to it, it might slow down, and if he didn't want to waste away, he needed to eat _more._

Cross blinked, realizing his tray was empty and he was still hungry. Knowing he wouldn't get any more of the rations until dinner, he figured he'd have to go out to get food—but there was no point in wasting his own money, until his stomach growled. At least the food and the Bloodtox had helped alleviate the lead-like feeling in his limbs. With a snarl, he rose and opened his door.

"S-sir!"

"Get my team together, and tell them we're going out to eat."

"Sir?"

"You have your orders, soldier!"

"Sir, yes, sir!"

He marched out to the entrance, relieved he was of a high enough standing that no one questioned him. In all his years of service, he had never been this hungry. His men met him shortly, and he nodded and started off.

"Sir, I have a question."

"Shoot."

"Why are we going out to eat?"

If there was one thing he liked about the Wisemen Team, it was the level of comfort. Although he did command respect, when it was just him and his team, he didn't mind letting the rules be forgotten slightly.

"I'm still hungry, and I wasn't going to be one of those idiot soldiers that beg the kitchen for more."

"But you're of a much higher rank."

Cross made a non-committal noise and shrugged. "I don't think they'd give me the rations I needed."

"What do you mean, sir?"

"I feel as if I haven't eaten in fucking weeks, soldier."

His team had their guns at ease, and he almost wanted to laugh at the civilians' stares as they walked to some buffet he knew was around here.

"Do you think it has something to do with whatever Zeus did to you?"

"It better not have anything to Goddamn do with Mercer, or I'll rip him a new one the next time I see him."

"We'll look forward to seeing that, sir."

"You'd better damn well. It's gonna be the show of the century."

He laughed with his team. They entered the restaurant, Jacob's Restaurant or whatever, and were seated quickly. He was grateful that he had grabbed some two-thousand dollars in raids during the real fight against the Infected and kept it all in his wallet, but as he ate, and ate, and ate, he began to wonder if Mercer had given him tapeworms.

"You're gonna get fat, sir, if you keep eating like that."

He flipped the man off, and the others laughed.

"I've never seen you this hungry."

"I've never seen myself this hungry. I think Mercer gave me tapeworms, the parasite he is."

"I wouldn't be surprised. Perhaps you should get a scan, or some medicine for them."

"Maybe it's secretly that Hunter that attacked you."

"Aw, fuck off, private."

It took another few dishes before he was sated. Nevertheless, he paid for him and his men, and they headed to the grocery store to buy out their snack bars before heading back to base. Cross just knew that hunger was going to come back. He blamed it on the Bloodtox.

Alex was pleased with the nutrients that were flowing through the man's blood. If he hadn't been in a trillion little pieces, he would've hummed. He could feel himself absorb the minerals and vitamins, feeding off his host, and he knew he had made the right choice. This man could pack it away, and Alex knew that he was going to come out stronger from this host. The virus shied away when several needles pierced the skin, but it didn't disrupt him. No point in letting any part of him escape this body.

Cross stood in the medical wing, as naked as the day he was born, as the medics ran test after test, poked and prodded, and had him do all kinds of ridiculous stretches. He had one of his men bring in a box of snack bars, and he ate those slowly as they tried to figure out what was wrong. He knew he should just tell them, "Hey, Mercer's inside me and probably the cause of all this," but that would be the same as instant death. Besides, some part of him still clung to the idea of once Mercer was done, he'd be in the same boat as the virus. After he had heard of what Heller had done, he was floored by the fact the man wouldn't want that same power—wouldn't want the thrill of the chase, or the adrenaline rush of jumping off a seventy floor building and surviving. Of course, there had been plenty of people to tell him he was crazy. Still, there was a reason he was called "the Specialist" and not "the Pansy-Ass."

"We can't find anything wrong, sir."

"Are you sure?" he growled as he broke off another piece of the snack bar and chewed it.

"You're body's metabolism as grown spectacularly, but, since you've had the Blacklight vaccine, there's no explanation. We even looked at your blood, and there was no trace of the virus."

He growled. Damn Mercer.

"We'll get you permission for extra rations from the kitchen, so you're body won't start eating itself, but we'll need more time."

"Better damn well figure this shit out, all you fucking lab rats."

He dressed and walked out, returning to his duties. Hunger or not, he wasn't going to let some snivel-nosed virus stop him from his job. Rumors spread like wildfire through the base over the next two weeks, and Cross found himself keeping an ear out for the rumors. He ploughed through the snacks as if he had never eaten anything before, and every evening he took his men out to eat at some sort of buffet. He still hadn't gained a single pound. What was worse, is after the first two weeks, he began to get cravings. He knew he was carrying Mercer inside him, but if that damn germ didn't get its shit together and leave, he'd accept death. Especially if it meant he'd stop wanting cheese and marshmallows, of all the things to want. He wondered if this was how a pregnant woman felt—fuck it all.

He knew he had a hair-line trigger these days, and that it was only getting worse, but between the cravings and the almost always present fatigue he was feeling—something he hadn't felt since his first day at boot camp—he was more than ready to just give up. He was more than eager to snap at the privates for fucking anything up, and he had heard several whispers of him being sent to Parris Island to be a drill sergeant. But first, he had to take care of this craving that had been growing worse of the past couple of days.

Alex was more than pleased the man was feeding him and taking exceptional care of him, but when he noticed an imbalance in the nutrients and minerals, he needed to correct it. If he was going to live and the man would become just like him, he needed a balanced environment. Still, he was stronger than he had been before he entered the man. He supposed he could just kill him and be done with it.

Cross wished he was dead as he raked a hand through his hair and stared at the display of six million different kinds of cheese. Like hell he knew which one to pick, and none particularly stood out to him, but cheese had always been mixed in with other food, and he didn't fancy eating regular cheese by itself, but he could feel the ache in his teeth as he growled and scratched his chin.

"That's a cool uniform you've got, mister!"

Cross glanced down to find a kid rocking on his heels and staring at him admiringly. He knew the grenade launcher wasn't necessary anymore, and they were simply stationed to befriend and lure Alex in, but he felt almost naked without it.

"Thanks," he grunted, looking back at the cheese.

After a few minutes of silence, the kid pointed at a package of white cheese logs. "You want that one, mister. They're a lot of fun to eat."

He raised an eyebrow, looking at the kid. The kid smiled.

"It's string cheese. You can play with it before you eat it."

He grunted and grabbed the package, turning it over and looking at the individual packets. Sitting on the floor, he opened it and tossed one to the kid, who looked excited as he peeled it open. Cross opened one as well, looking to make sure he hadn't destroyed the barcode, before mimicking the child's behavior of peeling the stringy cheese. After he tried it, he almost melted. It was just the right thing to calm the craving. He went through the entire pack and grabbed another before standing up.

"Who are you, kid?"

"Me? I'm Richard Smith."

"Mom and Dad?"

"They're in the fish section."

He snorted at the boy's disgusted face. He wondered if it was a different family from his original one, or if his family actually had survived the apocalypse. He nodded in thanks and started walking off, only to meet the kid again in the isle with the marshmallows. He was holding a box of Rice Krispie Treats, and Cross had to blink.

"You'll probably like this more, mister."

He took the box and looked at it. This kid was beginning to spook him a bit.

"Thanks," he grunted, then stared at the child a bit. "How did you—"

The boy squirmed and looked at his feet, clasping his hands behind his back. "I followed you 'cause you're cool looking."

He shook his head, and then looked up when he heard someone call from the end of the isle.

"Gotta go, mister! Bye!"

He blinked as the kid darted off, and he rubbed his temples briefly before heading to the check out. As he walked back to the base, he polished off half the box of Rice Krispie Treats and handed the rest off to one of his men to do whatever with. His men certainly liked the cravings: he gave them whatever he had left. He sat on the back of a supply truck as he peeled another stick of cheese.

"Fuck Mercer and his fucking virus fucking—"

"Sir?"

"To your post, soldier."

"It's, uh, here, sir."

"Then don't listen to me," he growled.

A few seconds later, he offered the man a cheese log. The soldier eventually accepted it, and the two ate the cheese in silence.

"Permission to speak, sir?" the soldier said as he took Cross's trash and stuffed it in his pocket to throw away later.

"Granted, soldier."

"Everyone's worried about you. Especially since we haven't seen Zeus since the start of your sickness."

Cross snorted in amusement. "Don't worry about me, private. I don't know what the hell's going on, but it'll take more than an encounter with my favorite germ to fucking kill me off."

The soldier chuckled.

"What are the latest rumors?"

"Huh? I mean—What, sir?"

He was getting old and soft: he really should reprimand the kid. He blamed Mercer. However, he was also fatigued—again he blamed Mercer. "The rumors. I know they're circulating. What are they?"

"Some say you're infected with a new strain the detectors can't find, others say it's just 'cause you're old and the years are catching up with you—are you okay, sir?"

He jolted, realizing he had entered a daze. He didn't know where this exhaustion was coming from, but he was almost asleep where he sat. "Yes, damnit."

The soldier blinked, then continued, "And others say you've actually been meeting up with Zeus whenever you go out. Some say you're pregnant."

"What?" he barked, snapping from his tiredness briefly. "Why the fuck would they say that?"

"Your cravings and moodiness, sir. Sir? Sir!"

The only other thing he remembered was falling from the truck.

Alex was satisfied as he prepared to come out. He was leisurely eating the cells now, transforming him little by little into a copy of himself. He was brimming with energy again. He felt powerful and in top shape. He could go and check on Dana without freaking her girly boyfriend out. And, he'd have gotten rid of the need to infect. Whoever he had chosen was a good choice.

Cross jolted awake, his stomach churning, and he darted from the bed, not hearing the crash of the IVs and alarm of the medics as he ran to the bathroom and heaved. He felt awful as he heaved again into the toilet. If the bloody vomit was anything to go by, he was in deep shit now. The medics were panicking as he heaved a third time, then rocked back on his heels, clutching the toilet bowl hard. He had gotten the flu once, but not even that could compare to how Goddamn awful he felt. His thoughts were fragmenting, and he felt as if he were burning alive. He threw up again, breathing in through his nose deeply as he spat into the murky water and flushed. The noise was too damn loud, and he covered his ears as he leaned on the edge of the bowl. Everything was too damn loud. He growled, pushing the medics away, and not realizing when he shoved them clear across the room as he vomited again, his entire body convulsing. He was trembling something awful.

He grunted, feeling as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. And when that weight lifted, so did the burning feeling and his churning stomach. He inhaled shakily, resting his head on his arm on the toilet as he tried to gather his thoughts. The entire room was silent save for the sound of someone cracking his bones. He closed his eyes. At least the wave of sickness had passed. There was silence for a few more seconds.

Then, "Cross?"

And he swore like a sailor as he whipped his head to find Mercer standing there, an almost shocked expression on that stupid fucking mug of his, and Cross roared, tackling the man. Alex was less than happy to have Cross tackle him, and he thought that it was just going to end up like Heller as he tried to keep the man's fists from connecting. He managed to barely avoid the shock baton when Cross was on top of him, and he kicked the man off.

"Cross! Calm down!"

The man roared, and he rolled out of the way when he saw claws coming at him. There was silence for a moment, then Alex dared to look at the other man, who was staring at his hands—claws. Everyone was still, and he was going to make a break for it when Cross growled.

"Don't you dare leave, you Goddamn virus."

Alex's eyes narrowed, and he glanced at the other soldiers in the medical wing.

"What the Hell fucking happened."

Alex shoved his hands in his pocket. "I needed a host to recover from Heller."

Cross growled again, and Alex met his gaze with a fierce stare of his own. The claws retracted. "And you hunted me down."

"The virus did. I don't know how you're still alive—"

"Goddamn Supreme Hunter only nicked me. Used my DNA to don my appearance. And you infected me!"

Alex sneered at the snarl and stepped forward. "Isn't that what you wanted—Captain? To be me? Here's your chance!"

Cross matched his step. "I've gone through Goddamn Hell these past few weeks, and you mean to tell me you've been eating me alive for the past fucking three fucking weeks!"

Another step. "Have you all ready consumed a scientist or something? You're getting smarter."

Again, a step. "Watch your mouth, you germ! You've been living in me, making me act like a pregnant woman for the past three weeks!"

Step. "So what if I was? It's too late now to do anything."

They were standing toe-to-toe in the silent room. "Too late? You fucking asshole!"

"Don't blame me. I was following the virus's—"

Cross pushed him, and he staggered. "Virus-shmirus! Your Goddamn selfishness has put me and all these fucking men at risk! It's clear the Bloodtox didn't do a good enough job of wiping you out!"

Alex sneered again. "You're the one who wanted it, Captain!"

"I've been walking around Manhattan with this thing—you!—in my veins for three weeks! If anyone else here is infected, Mercer—"

Alex snarled and pushed Cross, who staggered, compared to before, when he would go flying. "No one fucking else is infected. You didn't bleed once in the entire time! I made sure to keep myself together while I rested—"

"Fed off me!" Cross threw a punch, and Alex dodged it. "Made me wonder if I was infected with your alien spawn!"

Alex laughed, a barking, derisive laugh. "I always knew you were better suited to be a woman, Captain!"

"It's lieutenant now, Mercer, you shit-eating son-of-a-bitch!"

Alex grunted when Cross's punch connected with his gut, and he grabbed the hand and swung him out to smash him into the wall. Cross roared and straightened before he smashed into it, and immediately sprung from the wall. Alex summoned his blade and made a downward arc, only to feel claws wrap around the blade and feet connect in his stomach.

They rolled like pill bugs all over the floor, each one trying to outdo the other and top him, and finally, Alex had had enough, spewing forth enough biomass to keep the man firmly pinned to the ground as he struggled. Alex was panting.

"Fucking… shithead."

"Goddamn virus!"

Alex sneered and punched him in the face, watching the wounds heal. "You can either keep fighting me, Captain—"

"Lieutenant!"

"—or you can have me kill you just like I did Heller. It's your choice, Cross, but I saw the way you looked at me. I'm more animal than human—I could smell the jealousy that came off you. This is your chance. You want it? Or not?"

He saw Cross glance briefly around at the other soldiers. Alex watched the internal fight between his jealousy and his hatred through his eyes. "Fucking asshole."

"Atta boy, Captain."

"Lieutenant!"

"Captain."

"Call the President, boys. We've got Mercer to talk to him."

"Sir, yes, sir!"

"What are you dicking about?"

"Commander-in-Chief wants to talk to you, boy," he spat.

Alex's eyes narrowed.

"And when it finally got through that thick-ass skull of his, he decided you'd make a better ally than enemy. Wants to enlist you."

"I'm not leaving Dana."

"I'm not in charge."

Alex snarled and stepped away.

"'Sides, it's not like you couldn't just rip him apart. Probably'd be better for the USA, Goddamn Templars overrunning this fucking place."

Alex snorted and let Cross go, keeping a careful eye on him. Perhaps he could become an enlisted man—on his own terms.

"Are you serious, though?"

Alex quirked an eyebrow.

"That I'm infected."

"Yeah. You're a replica of me."

He smirked at Cross's smirk.

"You're gonna teach me, right?"

"Is that a willing act of submittance?"

"Maybe I could just pound you until I learn everything."

Alex snorted. "That might work."

"You'd better hang around here and show me the ropes, Mercer."

"Whatever you say, Captain."

He laughed at Cross's snarl. As he sat and talked to the President, Cross by his side and ready to pounce at the first chance, he wondered just how the world would handle two such powerful Blacklight virus carriers.


End file.
